Nuclear Winter
by Jennifer A. Johnson
Summary: A companion piece to the Four Months Ago episode.  Nathan must pay a terrible price for his heroic deeds.  Bennet and Claire pursue their own agendas.  Parkman loses one family but gains another.  Niki deals with the death of her husband.
1. Teaser

NUCLEAR WINTER

a _Heroes_ fan fiction

by Jennifer A. Johnson

scene from "Four Months Ago"

by Tim Kring

scenes from "How to Stop an Exploding Man"

by Tim Kring

Mohinder's lecture from "Four Months Later"

by Tim Kring

special thanks to

NBC's "Nathan Petrelli for Congress" website

DISCLAIMER: "_HEROES_" and other related entities are owned, (TM) and _© _by TIM KRING, _NBC UNIVERSAL TELEVISION_. All Rights reserved. _This fan fiction is posted here without their permission, approval, authorization or endorsement. Any reproduction, duplication, distribution or display of this material in any form or by any means is expressly prohibited. It is absolutely forbidden to use it for commercial gain. For entertainment and educational purposes only. No infringement intended._

TEASER.

_"You gotta let me go, Nathan!"_

_"You go, I go!" _

He could feel the heat. Even through the darkness, he could feel the heat. And the pain. He didn't know who he was, or even where he was, he just knew the pain. An intense, fiery pain, tearing away at his flesh, twisting it, turning it into something else, something not quite human. He felt trapped there, in his pain, and in his skin, like it wasn't even his own, almost as if it belonged to someone else. He had to force himself to breathe, long, labored breaths that were barely there. His chest slowly moved in and out, in and out; each lungful tasted of ash. If it wasn't for the machine they had him hooked up to, he probably wouldn't have been breathing at all.

His thick eyelashes intertwined, keeping what was left of his eyes shut to protect them from the thin layer of ash and dead skin and clumps of hair on his face. Not that he wanted to open his eyes. He didn't want to be there; he wanted to be somewhere, anywhere else, but not there. It would be so easy to just slip away, to sink into that void and end it all, but something kept him there, something- or someone- kept him from taking that final step. So he struggled to open his eyes, struggled to survive, not for himself, but for the person who mattered most to him in the world. He had to survive, so that he wouldn't suffer through the guilt of killing his big brother. It took effort, and almost more strength than he had, to get his eyes open. And once he did, all he could see was a world of gray, one eerily reminiscent of a nuclear winter.

Nuclear winter. Just two little words, yet together they possessed enough power to make him momentarily cold. Why, he didn't know. Maybe he didn't want to. He almost preferred the pain to the memory of what he had almost done. Almost. Something told him he deserved all of this, this and so much more.

The pain started to unwrap itself from his brain, and suddenly, he knew. He knew who was keeping here, the one person who truly mattered to him in this world. He would force himself to live, for him.

His tongue felt thick and spongy in his mouth, oozing saliva and blood instead of soggy water, and it took him several tries just to croak out, "Peter".

Nathan Petrelli could still hear his little brother screaming as The Darkness descended.

---

His entire body felt like it was on fire. He could feel the radiation eating away at his insides. The medication dulled the pain some, but not enough. He could still feel.

His mother was in the room with him again. He could sense her there, could smell her perfume. It clung to his lungs, his nose, what was left of his hair. It sickened him. He wanted to be as far away from that smell as possible. He wanted to say something, to make her go away, just leave him alone with his pain and his memories, but it hurt too much to talk. Besides, she wasn't worth it.

He tried to open his eyes, but his eyelids stuck together, sealing them shut. It was probably better that way. At least he wouldn't have to look at her. He squeezed his eyes further shut instead, trying to block her, and everything about her, out. All of her half-truths and constant manipulations. All of her evil.

Instead, he did thought of Peter. Sensitive, compassionate, selfless Pete, who had always admired Nathan so much, and would never know how much Nathan admired him back. Peter was missing; the Coast Guard had given up hope of ever finding him. He didn't want to live in a world without his little brother. And he knew, deep down, that he wouldn't have to. Despite everything, despite all that his mother said, Nathan knew that Peter was still alive.

---

Claire Bennet stared at the door. Room 1909. Even the numbers made her uneasy.

"You don't have to do this," came the familiar voice behind her. Claire turned to look at her dad. His trademark horn-rimmed glasses magnified the concern behind his blue eyes. "Not if you don't want to."

Visiting hours were over, and the two of them were alone in the hall. Still, Noah Bennet stuck to the shadows, where he felt the most comfortable, but Claire stood right out in the open. Claire guessed that was the major difference between the two of them, he had chosen the dark, she the light. "No, I do," she said, more to herself than to her dad. "I want to." She took a deep breath. "Okay. Here we go." Claire stared at the door. She wriggled her fingers a bit, trying to get them to move to the doorknob. "Watch me go. Go, Claire, go." She jerked her body, but her feet remained rooted to the spot. She turned to her dad. "I can't do this," she sighed.

Bennet glanced over his hurt shoulder, his arm still in a sling. Claire pretended not to see the bulge that was almost certainly a gun hidden beneath his jacket. It was this thing they did now; he pretended not to know when she did dumb teenager stuff, and she pretended not to know what he was really up to. He so owed her a car. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to, Claire, but this is the last time we can be here."

Claire nodded. Being here put them both at risk, her dad had made that quite clear, but if it was important to her, it was important to him. She needed- no had- to do this. And her dad understood; he was there for her, he would do anything for her. Over and over again, he had almost died to protect her. She just had to remember not to exploit that. Or him.

She took another deep breath, and this time felt more calm, more relaxed. Thanks to her dad. She put her hand on the doorknob. It felt cold. She glanced again at her dad for support. He smiled reassuringly. That was all she needed. Claire opened the door and went inside. Bennet did a quick sweep of the hall with his eyes, then slipped in after her.

---

Claire stopped beside the bed and just stared at the tangled mess that her biological father had become. It wasn't too long ago that she thought of him as her Bio-Dad, The Sperm Donor, her Creator, or just That Guy, and now here she was calling him her father. Her father. It was weird, right?

She had seen him with his other kids, seen how much they loved him, how much he loved them, and in that moment, she hated him. She hated him for not being able- or willing- to be that way with her. Seeing him with Thompson, the man who wanted to ruin her family, her real family, and learning of the plot to blow up New York, had only solidified that. And then he had swooped in, saving not only New York, but her dad, the man she loved more than anything. The way he looked at her in Kirby Plaza, when Peter said, "I can't let you die," and he responded with, "And I can't let everyone else," showed her just how much he really did love her. She finally understood Peter's devotion to him.

Claire looked down at him. Radiation burns covered his face, making him almost unrecognizable. In fact, it looked like a Halloween mask. He was all puffy and bruised and well, gross. His mouth was half-open in a permanent grimace, with lips that had blown up to three times their normal size. His chest was bare, except for the dark purple burn that ran right across it and up his throat.

Claire shifted nervously. She didn't know what to say, or how to say it. She fought the instinct to just take off. Perhaps sensing her inner turmoil, and she wouldn't doubt that he could, her dad, her real dad, brought her a chair. He took her hand and squeezed it. She squeezed back. Claire took a deep breath, and sat down. Bennet returned to the shadows, where he could keep watch without being in the way.

The machine beeped, but she could barely hear it over the raspy sound of her his breathing. It sounded like he was going to die. Claire looked back at her dad. He smiled again, the smile that, back when she was a little girl, had always made her feel better. Back before biological families and attempted rape and brain-eating serial killers. Back before plots to blow up New York. Back before she could heal. It was a smile that said that everything was going to be all right. Of course, now she knew better. Claire smiled that sweet smile of hers back at her dad anyway.

The smile faded the instant she looked back at her biological father. She took another deep breath. "Dad..." She frowned slightly. The word sounded wrong to her ears. Her dad was her dad. "Nathan." Her mouth trembled slightly. She wrung her hands in her lap. She looked down. "I don't know what to call you." She made a small hissing sound as she exhaled. She stared at her hands. She tried not to think of them as dainty. "I don't know if you can hear me, but I was in a nuclear explosion, too. This guy, Ted..." She stopped when she realized how lame she sounded. She could heal; he couldn't. It really wasn't the same thing. She glanced again at her dad. Bennet nodded, and Claire continued, "So I know. I know what you're going through. I just wanted to say thanks. Thanks for saving my dad's life." She leaned in real close. "And I promise you, we'll find Peter."

Nathan's eyes flew open, his left eye like a negative representation of his right eye that made them two different colors. He opened his mouth as if to talk, but all that came out was air. Claire gasped and stumbled back, nearly taking a bouquet of flowers out with her. These were not the fierce, intelligent eyes she remembered from before. No, these eyes were glassy and vacant, like two marbles sunk into his sockets. They were practically dead.

Claire suddenly felt very sick. She could feel it, the nausea, wriggling around in the pit of her stomach, fighting its way up her throat. She covered her mouth to hold back the vomit. "I'm sorry," she moaned, tears forming in the corner of her green eyes. She pushed past her dad and ran out into the hall.

Bennet watched her go, his eyes gleaming. The second the door closed, protecting Claire from anything that might be going on in here, Bennet pounced with all the agility of a jungle cat. The lenses of his horn-rimmed glasses reflected something dark, something almost sinister back at Nathan. "I want to thank you for sparing my daughter the pain of killing her hero, Mr. Petrelli." The door swung open behind him. "Unfortunately, I can't risk your mother finding out she was here."

The Haitian stepped into the room, emerging from the dark as if from a nightmare. The helix he wore around his neck shone with a light of its own. Bennet watched his partner reached out with his right hand. The Haitian stared at Nathan, his eyes intense, focused, his brow furrowed the tiniest bit. He put his hand on Nathan's forehead and covered his face.

For Nathan, his touch was cool, soothing and inviting. For the first time in a long time, Nathan didn't feel engulfed in flames. He felt The Haitian's invisible hand as it shifted through Nathan's short term memory. And when he found what he was looking for, the memory of Claire's visit, he plucked it right of his head, like a worm.

Nathan closed his eyes, thankful once again for The Darkness.

END TEASER.


	2. Act One

NUCLEAR WINTER

a _Heroes_ fan fiction

by Jennifer A. Johnson

DISCLAIMER: "_HEROES_" and other related entities are owned, (TM) and _© _by TIM KRING, _NBC UNIVERSAL TELEVISION_. All Rights reserved. _This fan fiction is posted here without their permission, approval, authorization or endorsement. Any reproduction, duplication, distribution or display of this material in any form or by any means is expressly prohibited. It is absolutely forbidden to use it for commercial gain. For entertainment and educational purposes only. No infringement intended._

ACT ONE.

Bennet found Claire slumped over in one of the plastic chairs down the hall, her face ashen, her blonde hair hanging in her sad eyes in sweaty clumps. Beads of sweat glistened on her face. She had no doubt just been sick in the bathroom. He smiled fondly at her, but she couldn't look at him. "I shouldn't have run out like that. He needs me."

Her voice was small, like a little girl's. In fact, she looked like a little girl. But then again, to Bennet, she would always be a little girl, that little girl with the bright eyes and pigtails that he loved so much. He sat down beside her. "He's your father. I'm sure he understands."

She finally looked up at him. She smiled, and her smile was just as fond of him as he was of her. "Maybe. But you'll always be my dad."

Bennet held out his good arm, and Claire went to him gratefully. She let him wrap his arm around her and kiss the top of her head. He just held her. And then she looked up at him. "Can we go now?"

Bennet brushed the bangs away from his daughter's forehead. He smiled, and though this time it wasn't completely genuine, it was practiced, not forced. "I'm going to call your mother first. Meet you in the car?"

Claire peered at him with those startlingly green eyes of hers. She knew he was lying, she could always tell now. The thing was, she was pretty sure he knew she knew he was lying. Maybe that was their thing now too. She held out her hand expectantly. Bennet handed over the keys. She stood up so that she could look down at him. The light caught the lenses of his horn-rimmed glasses, making them gleam. "Fine," she said, and she smiled mischievously. "I'm driving." She whirled around in a great flurry of blonde hair and flounced out before he could even respond.

He watched her go. The smile faded from his face. It transformed into something completely different, something dark. Something not evil, but morally gray. It was the face of The Company Man, the face of HRG.

The Haitian appeared at his side, as if out of nowhere. They exchanged a glance. An entire conversation seemed to pass between them in just that one look. The Haitian slowly nodded.

Cold steel dug into the back of his head. Bennet didn't just know it was Angela Petrelli's gun, he had been expecting it. He could tell, just from the way it felt, that it was a tiny one, a Derringer, the kind that can fit neatly in a purse. Nothing like Bennet's own Desert Eagle Israeli handgun, which could blow a face clean off if the situation required- and it often did. He didn't even flinch. "Go ahead, Mrs. Petrelli. Do it. Pull the trigger. Kill a man while your son lies dying in the next room."

"You're an unfeeling monster."

"Yes," he said, his voice deadly calm. He worked his way into her head. "But I'd never sacrifice one of my own children. Never. I'd do whatever it took to keep them safe."

"That was Nathan's fault," Angela said, her dark eyes darting around. "If only he'd stuck to the plan, Peter would still be alive." Bennet could tell, just by the slight change of inflection her voice, that she suddenly wasn't so sure.

His own voice stayed exactly the same. Same inflection, same pitch. Same deadly calm tone. It never changed. "I was talking about Nathan. Even if he does recover from what happened tonight, he'll never recover from what you've done to him."

A sob caught in Angela's throat. The gun shook, not a lot, but just enough for someone like Bennet to notice and take advantage of it, even with a hurt shoulder. He spun around, and, in one swift movement, grabbed her wrist and twisted the gun out of her hand. The Haitian swept in and scooped it up. Bennet whirled Angela around so that her back was to him. "You don't get to talk about Nathan," she practically spat. "Or Peter, for that matter."

"Fair enough," Bennet agreed amicably enough, pinning her arm behind her back. He did the same to the other one. He forced her to her knees.

She looked up and locked eyes with The Haitian. He just stood there, watching. Waiting. The derringer not even pointed at her, just at his side. Still, there was nothing but hate for him there, in Angela's own eyes. "How could you do this to me?" she hissed in French, the special language she and The Haitian shared. "After all that I've done for you?"

Bennet slapped a pair of handcuffs on her wrists so that she couldn't touch him. He walked around to face her. He bent to her level so that he could look right into her eyes. She still looked like a socialite to Bennet, even on her knees. "I'm going to bring down The Company," he told her, in perfect French. "And you're going to help me."

Boredom overtook her face. "Oh. That." She looked away. "You're nothing if not predictable, Mr. Bennet."

"Dad, what are you doing?"

Bennet stood. He didn't even have to look to know that was Claire's voice, sweet, yet little raspy, at times with a slight lisp that may or may not be a Texas accent, an odd combination that somehow worked. "Go wait in the car, Claire," he said, his voice still even, his eyes fixed on Angela.

Claire took a step towards him. She saw The Haitian, saw the gun in his hands. She saw the handcuffs on her grandmother's wrists. She looked right at Angela. "Don't take too long."

"So," Angela sniffed. "You've chosen his family over your own."

Claire looked her in the eye. She wasn't afraid of her the way she was last time, not with her dad here to protect her. "I've made my choice." She looked at her dad. "I'll be in the car."

Angela watched her granddaughter walk away. Then her eyes rolled back over to the man she gave her to, all those years ago. The man who was supposed to have turned Claire over the second she started to Manifest. The man who had once been the perfect Company Man, the man who had shot his first partner, his best friend, at the decree of The Company. Now he was a rogue, a traitor. A dead man.

Bennet bent down to her level again. "You're going to tell me where Molly Walker is, and you're going to tell me now."

"She's with Dr. Suresh." She not only looked bored with this entire conversation, she sounded bored. As if Bennet, as if everything, was beneath her.

Bennet stood up. "Thank you, Mrs. Petrelli." He nodded to The Haitian.

The Haitian moved in. He spread out this hand. "I am sorry," he said.

"Just do it, and let me get on with my life," she ordered.

The Haitian put his hand to Angela's forehead.

---

Claire didn't look over as the passenger door opened. She heard her dad slide into the seat beside her, heard him close the door. She wanted to ask him so many things, wanted to ask him what he did with the body. But she knew better than that by now. She put the key in the ignition instead.

"Claire, wait."

Claire killed the engine. She looked over at her dad. He reached into his inside jacket pocket and handed her a pink cell phone. She took it, with the requisite strange look. "What's this for?"

"I hid one just like it in Nathan's room."

Claire held up her new cell. "Only not pink?"

Bennet couldn't help but smile. "Only not pink."

Claire smiled back.

"They're prepaid, so they're untraceable." As her dad talked, Claire flipped open the phone. She played with the keypad. "That way you can call him whenever you want." She pressed speed dial one, and Nathan's new number popped right up. Bennet leaned in real close. "But only after visiting hours." He gave her a very parental look, his finger up, and waited until he had her full attention before continuing. "Your grandmother can never know about this, Claire."

So she was still alive. Claire was almost disappointed. "She's not my grandmother," she scoffed. She flipped the phone shut with an expert flick of her wrist. It was a movement very like something her dad would make.

Bennet smiled. "That's my girl."

Claire smiled back. "Always."

---

Angela blinked. Something was wrong, something more than just her whole world collapsing. Something... else. She closed her eyes to concentrate. She reached out with her mind, and found that there were gaps in her memory. Which could only mean one thing- The Haitian had been here. "Nathan," she gasped.

---

Distant footsteps echoed. He kept his eyes shut, even as the sound got closer. His mother had left, he was free, so why did she have to come back? Why couldn't she just leave him alone?

The door burst open, nearly exploded- and there was one of those words again, one of those tiny words that possessed so much power. Only this time, he remembered why. He remembered what he had almost done, what he had almost let Pete do. His heart, what was left of it anyway, beat a little faster. Something pounded in his brain, chipping away at the inside of his skull. He tried to take a breath, but the oxygen burned his throat and lungs.

His mother came to his hospital bed, to him. She touched him, his cheek, his forehead, as if to make sure he really was still there. She was the only one who would touch him; even the doctors and the nurses, those who made a living helping people, didn't seem to want to get too close. His mother's touch should have been soothing, comforting, but he found it repulsive.

She was sobbing, something about how she couldn't bear to lose another son. If he cared at all about her anymore, he'd tell her that she already had.

If he cared.

---

Molly Walker brightened the moment she saw him. "Matt!" she exclaimed. She ran to his hospital bed, threw her arms around him.

Mohinder Suresh said something behind her, cautioning her, but if Molly heard him, she pretended not to. Officer Matt Parkman had battled the boogeyman for her, not once, but twice, and won both times. He even had the battle scars to prove it. Molly loved him. She hugged him tight, hugged him tight and didn't let go. Parkman grunted a little as she pressed against his still healing chest.

Mohinder moved forward, gently pried Molly off of Parkman. But Molly didn't let that deter her, she just grinned all the more. "Hey, Matt, guess what?" She pulled a homemade card out of her pocket and practically shoved it at him. "I made you something." She barely let him take the card before chirping, "It's a get well card!"

Parkman opened the card. He was affected, not by the drawing of him in his cop uniform, holding her own stick figure hand, but by the words 'My Hero' in big, block letters at the top of the page. His eyes welled with tears. He never thought he'd be anyone's hero. He was convinced that he was too fat, too stupid, to matter to anyone, even himself. He had learned that from his estranged father all those years ago.

"Get well, Matt!"

Parkman looked up at Molly's face, so bright, so hopeful, so adoring. He smiled through his tears. "This is great, Molly," he said, and his voice trembled the slightest bit. He practically hugged the card to his chest. "Thank you."

Parkman didn't think it was possible, but her smile widened all the more. It practically ate her face. She threw her arms around him again, and this time, he ignored the pain to hug her back. He didn't want to let her go.

Molly finally pulled back, but only to tell Mohinder that she had to go to the bathroom. Mohinder had to help untangle her from the IV stuck in the back of Parkman's hand to let her go.

Parkman barely waited for the bathroom door to close before leaning forward. The pain flared up slightly in his chest, and he cringed. He took a second to let it go back down. "Any news on Sylar?"

"Hiro Nakamura ran a sword through his chest," Mohinder reminded him, matching Parkman's confidential tone with his own. "For all intents and purposes, he should be dead."

"Yeah. But is he?"

"I can hear you, you know," Molly announced from the bathroom, her voice muffled slightly by the door, but still audible. Parkman and Mohinder exchanged a glance as they heard the toilet flush. The door opened, the bathroom light flipped off, and Molly appeared in the doorway. Her face was pale, like she'd seen a ghost. Or her own death. "I know you're talking about the boogeyman."

"We won't let anything happen to you," Mohinder pledged, his sometimes Indian, sometimes American, but mostly British accent soothing to Molly's ears.

"You're safe with us, Molly," Parkman assured her, his own non-accent just as comforting as Mohinder's. "We promise."

Relief washed over Molly. She ran to them, drew her two heroes together in one hug. "I knew you'd never let him hurt me," she told them, tears of joy running down her face. She knew that Mohinder and Parkman would keep her safe. She knew, for the first time in a long time, that she was home.

---

"You really do love Molly, don't you, Parkman?"

Parkman startled, practically jumped out of his skin, and his hospital bed. It was the same deadly calm voice that until quite recently had haunted his dreams, the voice that he had recently formed an alliance with. The voice that belonged to Mr. Bennet.

His former abductor emerged from the shadows, an astonishing feat, considering Parkman didn't even realize his hospital room had shadows until now. The rest of room was sunny, bright even, as the morning sunlight filtered in through the window. It was as if the lights dimmed, just for Bennet. Parkman didn't doubt that they did. Somehow, Bennet had managed to sneak up on a mind reader, which made him all the more dangerous. And The Haitian was nowhere to be seen, so Bennet had managed it all by himself. Parkman didn't know if that was better, or much, much worse.

"Careful," Bennet cautioned, as Parkman cringed from the pain of his sudden movement. Bennet smiled, but it was a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "You'll pop a stitch."

"Where's Claire?" Parkman asked, trying to distract Bennet from whatever it was he came here to do. He knew from experience that Claire was the way to do that, perhaps the only way.

"She's with her mother," Bennet said, in a nonthreatening voice that made him all the more threatening. Something in his manner strongly suggested that Parkman not bring up his daughter again. Parkman didn't have to be a mind reader to know that that would be a very bad idea. He nodded slightly to let Bennet know he understood. He wouldn't be bringing Claire up again.

Bennet looked to the bedside table. Parkman followed his eyes. There were drawings and homemade cards from Molly, a card from Audrey, even flowers from Mohinder, but nothing there from Janice. "How's your wife?"

"I don't know." Parkman glanced down, then looked back up at Bennet. The light reflected off the lenses of his horn-rimmed glasses. "I haven't heard from her."

Bennet reached into his inside jacket pocket. Parkman almost expected him to pull out a gun. He pulled out a cell phone instead. Parkman gave him a confused look, and, after a small nod of encouragement from Bennet, took it. He tilted his head a bit to get into Bennet's head, but Bennet locked him out with the image of a door. Parkman knocked, but he heard Bennet lock the door. "Call her, Parkman."

Parkman opened his mouth to argue, but a look from Bennet shut him up. He glanced down at his phone, and when he looked up again, Bennet had disappeared. "A card would have been nice!" he called, but there was no response; Bennet was just gone. It was as if he had vanished into thin air. "How does he do that?" Parkman asked the empty room.

---

Mohinder sensed something was wrong the moment he entered his apartment. The hair on the back of his neck stood up, and his skin prickled. "Molly, get behind me," he said, his voice low, so only she could hear. Molly nodded, frightened, and did as she was told.

Mohinder looked around for a weapon; the best- and closest- thing he could find was a lamp. He picked it up and yanked the cord from the wall. He held the lamp over his shoulder like a baseball bat. "Show yourself!"

There was a definite presence behind him, something much bigger than Molly, something that hadn't been there only a second before. Mohinder spun around, swinging for the fences. Bennet caught the lamp inches from his face. He didn't even flinch. Molly, who only noticed Bennet once Mohinder did, shrieked and fled to the corner.

Bennet easily took the lamp from Mohinder, then cast it aside. The lenses of his horn-rimmed glasses gleamed. Mohinder shifted nervously. He gulped. He glanced at his phone, wondered if he could make it there before Bennet could. "You really don't want to do that," Bennet told Mohinder evenly.

Molly cowered in the corner, her face buried in her knees. She rocked back and forth, back and forth, "Please don't hurt me," she whined. "Please don't hurt me."

The father in Bennet got distracted by the sound of fear in the little girl's voice. Mohinder lunged, but Bennet spun on instinct and caught his fist. He pushed him to the floor with next to no effort. Bennet didn't even break a sweat, even with his hurt shoulder.

Mohinder glared up at Bennet from beneath his mop of black curls. Sweat glistened on his own dark face. "I won't let you hurt her," he panted.

Bennet crouched down in front of Mohinder. He looked right into Mohinder's deep brown eyes so Mohinder would know he wasn't lying. "I'm not going to hurt her, Dr. Suresh. I'm here to help her, her and everyone like her, including my daughter."

"Oh?" Mohinder asked, unconvinced. "And I suppose breaking into my apartment again is some sort of test?"

"Practice," Bennet said, and Mohinder couldn't tell if he was kidding or not, even with the small smile. "It got your attention, didn't it?"

Mohinder nodded, a bit reluctantly. Bennet offered him his hand. Mohinder hesitated, then let Bennet help him up. "What do you want me to do?"

Bennet smiled again. "Good man."

END ACT ONE.


	3. Act Two

NUCLEAR WINTER

a _Heroes_ fan fiction

by Jennifer A. Johnson

DISCLAIMER: "_HEROES_" and other related entities are owned, (TM) and _© _by TIM KRING, _NBC UNIVERSAL TELEVISION_. All Rights reserved. _This fan fiction is posted here without their permission, approval, authorization or endorsement. Any reproduction, duplication, distribution or display of this material in any form or by any means is expressly prohibited. It is absolutely forbidden to use it for commercial gain. For entertainment and educational purposes only. No infringement intended._

ACT TWO.

Claire stared at her new cell phone, stared at Nathan's name on the screen. Her finger touched the send button, but she couldn't quite bring herself to push it. Not yet.

She looked up, and saw Lyle glaring at her from across the table, from around his bowl of cereal. He did that a lot these days, the glaring. She made a noise of disgust. "Go away."

But he was her little brother; he never went away. She was certain it was his mission in life to make hers miserable, especially since November 8th. "How come you get a cell phone?" he demanded through a bite of cereal. Milk collected in the corner of his mouth. It was disgusting to look at.

Claire wanted to tell Lyle, "Because Dad likes me better." But she didn't say it, even if it were true. Instead, she told him it was, "Because I'm the oldest."

Lyle snorted. A piece of food flew from his mouth and hit her square in the cheek. Claire was certain he somehow did it on purpose; his aim was just too good to be a coincidence. "Gross, Lyle," she said, disgust all over her voice. Lyle took that opportunity to snatch the cell phone right from her hand. Claire dove for Lyle, but he maneuvered the phone out of her reach.

"Nathan? Who's Nathan?"

"Give it to me!" she shrieked, and dove again. Mr. Muggles yapped and turned excited little circles on the floor, a flurry of ears and fur. She took her phone back, and slapped her brother over the back of the head for good measure. She sat back down in her chair and went back to staring at his name, the name of her biological father.

"He your luvah?"

Claire's head jerked up. She recoiled at the thought, her face scrunched beneath the force of her disgust. That was her father! Besides, he was like... forty. It's not like Nathan was Peter; Peter she might make an exception for. She shuddered. Or not.

Lyle saw the look on her face and grinned wickedly. He dove onto the motel bed, squirmed suggestively under the blankets. The springs creaked. Loudly. Claire could hear them over the TV news that was on but not being watched. She was sure their mother could hear them over the shower, all the way in the bathroom. "Oh, Nathan! Oh, Claire! Oh, Nathan! Oh, Claire!" Lyle fake-moaned, his voice alternating between high and low to imitate the voices of Claire and an imaginary Nathan. Claire looked absolutely horrified. She wanted to claw her eyes out, but what would be the point when they'd just grow back?

Her dad appeared to save her, like he always did. "That's enough, Lyle."

Lyle pulled the blankets off his face. His hair stuck up every which way. He sat there on the motel bed, glaring at his sister.

Claire gave him a look and went to her dad. She hugged him tight. "Hi, Daddy."

"Hey, baby."

Lyle just glared at them both a moment before finally exploding, "Why does Claire get a cell phone?! It's her fault we can't go home!"

"Lyle, that's enough," Bennet ordered, his voice parental, not Company Man, but still authoritative enough to shut Lyle up, at least temporarily.

The news said something about some production company apologizing for the use of pyrotechnics over Kirby Plaza on November 8th while filming a scene for a movie, which was a total lie, but Claire guessed it was better than people knowing the truth- even if Nathan had saved them all. But then the anchor went on to report that, "In completely unrelated news, Peter Petrelli, younger brother of newly elected congressman Nathan Petrelli, is missing and presumed dead." That got Claire's full attention, especially when they flashed a picture of Peter's face on the screen.

Bennet didn't need Parkman at his side to know what his daughter was thinking. "Don't even think about it, Claire."

Claire turned to him. "Dad, I have to."

"Claire," he said, bending down to her level. He gently took her by the arms and looked right into her green eyes. His voice was steady, but Claire could tell he was scared. "The people I worked for will be looking for Peter. They'll find him, and then they'll find you." Claire opened her mouth to argue, but a pleading look from her dad kept her quiet. "I owe Peter and Nathan my life for what they did for you. But I will not give The Company yours." Bennet gazed adoringly at his daughter. He touched her cheek. She looked back at him, then softened into his touch. She nodded slightly. Bennet smiled. "That's my girl," he said, and kissed the top of her head. She smiled back; it felt forced, but her dad seemed to buy it.

Mr. Muggles finally grew tired of not having all attention on him. He barked and growled and attacked Bennet's shoelaces. Bennet bent down and picked him up. "Where's your mother?"

"She's in the shower."

Bennet went off to find her, taking Mr. Muggles with him. Claire watched him go. The smile faded from her face the moment he was gone. She frowned when she saw Lyle playing with her cell phone, just pressing random numbers, and snatched it away from him. "That's mine."

She wiped the keypad on her pants to get all of the boy germs off of it. She gave Lyle a dirty look. Lyle gave her one back and mouthed the words, "I. Hate. You."

Claire ignored him. She didn't have time to fight with Lyle, not now. She had no intention of listening to her dad. There was work to be done. She had to find Peter.

---

The motel window inched open. Claire stuck her head outside, into the night. She did a quick sweep of the alley below with her eyes, exactly like her dad had done in the hospital, then ducked back inside. A second later, she did a back handspring out of the window and made a perfect landing below. And then her ankle gave out, and she dropped to the ground.

Her mouth drew into a grimace as pain shot up her leg. She dragged herself into a sitting position and pulled her leg into her lap. The leg looked put on wrong; it was bent and crooked, twisted in the wrong direction, and bits of bone and muscle poked through her skin. She pressed the bone back through and pushed the flap of skin over the exposed muscle. Her skin healed almost immediately.

Claire stood up. She could have sworn that the alley had been empty, but then her dad appeared, as if out of thin air. "Go back to the room, Claire."

"I can't just sit here. I have to do something. Peter needs me."

"You can, and you will," Bennet ordered. "Because what they'll do to you is much, much worse. I love you, Claire Bear. I just want to protect you. Now go." He pointed back to the motel. Claire turned around and went back to their room.

---

Pain and morphine coursed through Nathan, battling for control of his body. The morphine was winning. For now. His once dark brown eyes were cloudy with it. He thought he could still smell the fire and ash on his skin, in his hair, but that may have been the morphine as well. Not that he had very much of either left, even after his second skin graft.

He faded in and out of consciousness often, though he was out more than in, especially when his mother was here. That way he wouldn't have to look at her, to be touched by her, to listen to her and all of her guilt. He was alone now, at least for the moment, but her perfume remained. He knew that if radiation had a smell, a real smell, it would smell like that perfume. Her perfume was the smell of evil and death.

Nathan tried to use these precious few moments alone to think about his beloved Pete, but his thoughts were all jumbled from the morphine. He couldn't even focus long enough to see Peter clearly in his mind. He lashed out in frustration, knocking a try of medical supplies over with a loud crash.

He heard the knock at the door, but he ignored it, hoping his mother would just go away, go away and never come back. He'd rather be alone for the rest of what passed for his life, than to see her face, or smell that repulsive perfume, ever again.

By the time he finally realized that his mother wouldn't bother knocking, the door opened. Nathan could make out a tousled head of brown hair, but not much else. It took him several tries just to get out, "Peter?"

"No, Nathan," said Heidi Petrelli. She sounded like she really did not want to be here. "It's your sons."

He concentrated, hard, focusing all of his attention on Simon and Monty. He tried to will everything else out of his mind, including the morphine. "Simon? Monty?" His throat constricted, making every word painful, but these were his boys.

Simon and Monty hung back. They looked almost afraid, at least to Nathan. He rose his left hand to gesture them forward. What was left of the skin was dark purple, almost black, and missing several nails. "It's okay," he said gently, his voice sounding foreign to his own ears. He could only imagine how it sounded to his boys. He pulled the oxygen tube from his nose. He tried to smile reassuringly, but his mouth was stuck in a permanent grimace from the burns. "See? I'm fine."

"Go on, boys," Heidi urged, her big eyes never leaving Nathan, as if she expected him to sprout wings at any moment. She really wouldn't have been too far off. He supposed he had looked the same way at his own reflection when he first found out that he could fly.

Heidi gave both the boys a little nudge. Simon and Monty moved slowly to their dad's bedside. Nathan blinked, hard. His thick eyelashes got in the way of really seeing them. "Are you being good for Mommy?" he croaked.

"Yes, Daddy," they said, their voices blending together as one.

Simon couldn't seem to look at Nathan, but Monty stared directly at him, at his burns, at his hideous mass of broken skin. "Does it hurt?" Monty finally asked, wide-eyed.

"Of course it hurts, Stupid!"

"I'm not stupid! You're stupid, Stupid!"

Nathan barely heard them. The Darkness beckoned; a part of him wanted to give in, but he couldn't do that, not with his boys here. So he fought The Darkness, once again willing himself to stay here, stay anywhere.

"Boys, that's enough," Heidi admonished, still keeping her distance. Her mistrustful eyes were glued to Nathan. He could feel them, burning into him, along with the radiation.

Simon pushed his brother once more for good measure. This seemed to give him the courage he needed to finally look at his dad. "When are you coming home?"

"We miss you," Monty chimed in.

Nathan began to cry, something he did a lot these days, probably more now than he had done all together in his life. The tears burned at his retinas like liquid fire. He covered his face so that his boys wouldn't have to see him cry on top of everything else.

"Daddy?" Monty asked, practically climbing over the bedrail to get closer to Nathan. Heidi cringed noticeably at their proximity to each other. "Are you okay?"

The smell of radiation and perfume was back. His mother was once again there with him in the room. "I think it would be best if you leave now," Angela said sternly, and it was clear that it was an order, not a suggestion. "Children, tell your father good-bye."

"Bye, Daddy," the boys chorused obediently.

Monty tried to kiss his dad's forehead, but Heidi quickly snatched him back as if afraid he would catch something from Nathan. She bent down to Monty's level, looked right into his big brown eyes. "You okay, kiddo?" she asked quietly, almost confidentially. Monty nodded. Heidi glanced quickly at Nathan, then ruffled their son's hair. She stood up to watch Monty and Simon walk out.

"Good-bye, kids," Nathan whispered. Monty stopped to wave just outside the door, then he and Simon were gone.

Before she could follow, Angela started touching Heidi, her face, her hair. "You're doing the right thing," she assured her, twirling Heidi's dark hair around her fingers and gazing deep into her green eyes. Heidi nodded slowly and turned to the door. She almost made it out of the room before Nathan figured out what his mother had done, why Heidi hadn't come back since he told her everything, about her accident, about the plot to blow up New York, about how Peter was a bomb. It was the same line of bullshit she had had him spew to the press about Peter's "delusions of grandeur" and his "suicide attempt". About how crazy ran in their family.

"I'm not crazy," he said. Heidi stopped. She couldn't- or wouldn't- look at him. "I really can fly." She still didn't turn around. The skin around his eyes furrowed slightly; it was the closest thing to a frown he could make. "You do believe me, don't you?"

Heidi remained stone. An eternity of silence passed between them. She glanced over at his mother. Angela nodded slightly. "I believe that you believe it, Nathan," Heidi finally consented. She hurried out, as if afraid to be in the same room with him any longer.

Angela followed her out with her eyes. Once the door closed, and they were alone, she walked around to her son. She returned the tube to his nose. "It's better this way, Nathan," Angela said, fluffing his pillow. "Better for her, better for you. And better for your sons. You'll see." She stroked what was left of his cheek. He recoiled inwardly at her touch. He turned his head so that he wouldn't have to look at her. "You'll see."

The Darkness crept in, and Nathan let his eyes flutter shut. "Peter," he whispered, as he slipped into unconsciousness.

---

His doctors wanted to discharge him, but Parkman couldn't bring himself to go home. Not that his home was really his home, not anymore.

He had cried for nearly an hour when Janice told him. She didn't even do it in person; she told him over the phone, and only after he called her on the cell phone Bennet gave him. She had had the baby, and it wasn't his.

Now he was here in the hospital, alone, with nowhere else to go. And all he could think about was how much he had wanted that baby, how much he still wanted to be a father. How much he wanted someone to love.

Molly burst through the door, all optimism and boundless energy. Mohinder followed. "Matt!" she cried, and practically threw herself at him. She wrapped her arms around him and held him tight. She looked up at him when she realized his mind was elsewhere; it was obvious in the way he hugged her. She pulled back to look up at his round face. "Matt? What's wrong? You look sad."

"No, Molly. I'm fine," he said, and smiled reassuringly. "Especially now that you're here."

Molly grinned. "Great!" she chirped, and hugged him again, even tighter this time. She buried her face in his still tender chest. Parkman hugged her back, stroked her hair.

He heard Mohinder's voice in his head. Parkman titled his head a bit, giving him better access to Mohinder's thoughts. "What about Bennet's plan?" he asked. No sooner had the words gotten out than Parkman realized they were the wrong ones. He had to stop invading people's minds like that. His telepathy had brought him nothing but trouble, trouble for him, but more importantly, trouble for those around him. "Sorry," Parkman said, ducking his head.

Mohinder smiled that beautiful smile of his, the one that could light up an entire room. "It's quite alright," he said. "Your abilities are extraordinary!"

"Thanks," Parkman said, though it didn't take another mind reader to know that he didn't agree. His abilities had destroyed his life. But then his eyes meet Mohinder's, and he knew that everything was going to be okay.

---

Nathan made his way back through The Darkness. Distant voices echoed; one voice in particular called him home. _Peter? _Nathan felt like he was floating- no, he felt like he was flying. _Peter!_ The Light rushed in on him, and then he returned to consciousness.

He just laid there, stiff and sore from being in the bed for so long, but for the first time since all this happened, not in actual pain. The only sound was the beep of the heart monitor and the quiet hiss of his oxygen. He was alone.

Nathan slowly sat up. His reflection stared back at him from the mirror across from his bed. He barely recognized himself. His eyes were sunk in their sockets, dark and haunted. His face was gaunt, his skin pale. His longer hair hung lifelessly in his face, much the way his clothes did on his much thinner frame. But aside from the old scar that snaked across the left side of his face, from his chin to his cheek, there was nothing wrong with his appearance; the scar so much a part of him, that it would have been disconcerting not to see it there. The radiation burns were completely healed.

He pulled the oxygen tube from his nose and the IV from his arm. He got up and went to the window to look out into the night. Manhattan stretched out below him, a billion tiny pinpoints of light in the miles and miles of blackness. Nathan frowned, his eyebrows seemingly more thicker than before, as he thought of his fellow New Yorkers. How many of them went on with their lives, blissfully unaware of the terrible fate that had almost befallen them? Linderman knew it, and so did Nathan- .07.

There was only one person in his life who cared enough about him to heal him like that- his little brother, Peter. And yet, the very thought that Peter had been here filled him with dread. Pete wouldn't just leave him like that unless something was very, very wrong. Something had happened to his brother, and this time, Nathan hadn't been there to protect him.

Nathan truly was alone.

END ACT TWO.


	4. Act Three

NUCLEAR WINTER

a _Heroes_ fan fiction

by Jennifer A. Johnson

DISCLAIMER: "_HEROES_" and other related entities are owned, (TM) and _© _by TIM KRING, _NBC UNIVERSAL TELEVISION_. All Rights reserved. _This fan fiction is posted here without their permission, approval, authorization or endorsement. Any reproduction, duplication, distribution or display of this material in any form or by any means is expressly prohibited. It is absolutely forbidden to use it for commercial gain. For entertainment and educational purposes only. No infringement intended._

ACT THREE.

Nathan needed his brother. It was getting harder and harder to believe that Pete was still out there. He was starting to think that maybe his mother was right... he really did kill his brother.

No. Peter was alive. He had to be.

There were tiny hands on him. He looked down to see his son's excited little moon face gazing up at him. "Daddy, look what Santa brung me!" Monty exclaimed, waving a Sony PSP at him. "Daddy, look!"

"Yeah, it's great. Isn't it, Nathan?" Heidi said, with extra emphasis on his name. His mother watched from her seat of perpetual judgment.

Nathan knew he loved his sons, he _knew_ it, he just wished he could feel it. He didn't feel much of anything these days. He broke away from Monty and went to get another drink. Heidi trailed at his heels. "Your sons waited two months to celebrate Christmas because they wanted to celebrate it with you. Could you at least pretend to care? Please?"

Nathan downed his drink and poured another. He took a sip. The alcohol burned his throat. "You have no idea what I'm going through," he said, his jaw set.

"I would if you'd talk to me. You don't talk, Nathan!"

He stared at the alcohol in his glass. "I tried. Back in the hospital. I told you everything, and you didn't believe me," he said, his voice low.

"You said you can fly! You can't fly, Nathan. People can't fly. There's no such thing as special abilities. It's all in your mind."

"You were there, Heidi," Nathan said. He finally turned to look at her. "You were there. Remember the accident? How do you think you wound up in a wheelchair and I came out of it with barely a scratch? I flew." Heidi shifted uncomfortably. She folded her arms across her chest. "No such things as special abilities," Nathan scoffed, almost to himself. He looked up at Heidi, and his brow furrowed. "If that were true, how did Linderman heal you?"

Doubt flickered in Heidi's big, green eyes. She looked to Angela. Angela nodded. "You're sick. You need help."

Nathan chuckled bitterly into his drink. "You're right. I do." He went to take another sip, but his eyes caught a picture of him and Peter, one of the ones he had of them at his wedding, and he faltered.

Heidi followed Nathan's eyes and saw what he was looking at. Her face softened, and she gently touched his arm. "He's gone, Nathan. Peter's gone, and he's never coming back. It's time you accept that, so you can move on."

Nathan slammed his glass down, shattering it in his hand. Heidi gasped and stumbled back. Monty and Simon startled all the way across the room, but Nathan barely felt it. "Daddy!" Monty cried out. "You're bleeding!"

Nathan looked almost confused for a moment. He looked down at his hand, flexed his knuckles. He turned it over and looked at his palm. Blood and glass poked through his skin. His brow furrowed. He slowly rose his fist to get a better look. He titled his head a bit, staring as blood dripped out onto the carpet.

"Jesus, Nathan," Heidi said, sounding a bit irritated. She went into the kitchen and returned with a dishtowel. She pulled the biggest pieces of glass from his skin, then used the towel to wrap up his hand. Nathan didn't look at her, but his face was fixed in a permanent scowl.

Nathan finally looked up, only his eyes weren't on his Heidi, they were on the picture of Peter. "I'll come back later for my things," he said quietly.

He turned for the door, but Monty practically threw himself at him. He wrapped his arms around Nathan and held him tight, burying his face in his chest. "No! No! No! No! No!" he cried.

Nathan gently pried Monty off of him, handed him off to Heidi. Heidi gathered both Monty and Simon into her arms. Nathan almost made it to the door before Simon said softly, "Daddy, don't go."

Nathan stopped. He turned to look at his boys. Monty was bawling, tears were streaming down Simon's face, and still Nathan felt nothing. He looked down. "I'm sorry," he said, and walked out.

---

A flurry of snow swirled around Nathan. It clung to his face, his clothes, his hair. It felt like ash, the ash of a nuclear winter.

Angela stepped out of the mansion behind him. She put on a pair of gloves, which, like the fur coat, was more for the fashion than the cold. "Come inside, Nathan."

His face was still fixed in that permanent frown. He didn't answer. He wanted to block her out, but that would leave him alone with his thoughts.

Angela came up behind him and stopped. She ran her hands up his back, squeezed his shoulders. "Your family needs you." Nathan knocked his mother off him. She stumbled back, first surprise, then anger in her usually cold eyes. "You've ruined so many lives already, Nathan. Don't ruin your sons' lives as well."

Nathan blinked incredulously. "Ruined?"

"We spent years on that plan, bringing everything together, molding you into the type of man that we needed to bring it to fruition. Do you realize how many people an operation like that entails? How many people wasted their hopes, their dreams, their very lives, on you? You're selfish, Nathan."

Nathan chuckled, but there was no humor there, only contempt, contempt not just for his mother, but for himself. "Yeah, Ma. I'm selfish."

Angela just glared at him. "It should have been you, Nathan, not him. Not him." She turned around and went back inside, slamming the door behind her.

Nathan stared up at the night sky. The ash weighed down his thick eyelashes, obscuring his vision, making everything gray. He thought of Peter. He looked back, and saw Simon and Monty watching him from the window. He finally looked down at the ground. "I wish it had been."

---

Niki Sanders' reflection stared back at her from the bathroom mirror. No matter how much makeup she applied, she couldn't hide the haunted look that had been there since DL's death. Her hand trembled as she added another layer of mascara. She had to stay strong. For Micah. But DL wouldn't leave her alone; he was there and he wasn't going away anytime soon. She saw his face as that bullet tore through him, felt his warm blood on her cool skin. She hadn't pulled the trigger, but she may as well have. Her son was going to grow up without a father because of something she did. Her husband was dead because of her.

Jessica gave her a look from her glass prison above the sink. "What did I tell you about getting attached?"

Her hand faltered. She couldn't look Jessica in the eye. "Don't talk to me," Niki ordered, her voice quivering. "You're a murderer."

Jessica shook out her gorgeous mane of blonde hair. "I'm not the one who got our husband killed," she smirked.

Tears welled up in Niki's blue eyes. "That wasn't me. That was Gina."

Jessica didn't believe it, and really, neither did Niki. "Does that help you sleep at night?"

Niki backed away from the mirror and into the wall. She slid to the cold bathroom tile. She gulped and looked up at the ceiling, tossing her flat, blonde hair. The huge gold hoops in her ears brushed against her shoulders. She started to cry.

Jessica threw up her hands. "Again?"

The TV was on in the bedroom. If she were still back in Vegas, it would be the bedroom she had until quite recently shared with her husband. But now that she was in New York, getting help from The Company, she was all alone. That thought made her cry even harder. She cried for nearly an hour, right there on the bathroom floor.

Jessica looked on in disgust. "DL is dead, Niki. Crying is not going to bring him back, so why bother?"

Tears and mascara streaked down Niki's pale face. "It's called having feelings. They're what makes us human. You should try it sometime."

Jessica's makeup looked as flawless as ever. "I'll be sure to do that," she said, though she was so obviously lying.

"Mom?"

Niki and Jessica both looked towards the sound of Micah's voice. Niki got up and followed it into the bedroom. She found him on the monitor of her laptop, transmitting himself through a web cam. She wiped the tears from her blue eyes and the mascara from her face. She sniffed a little before sitting down at the desk to chat with him. "Hey, baby," she said brightly.

Micah could sense something wasn't quite right, even over the web. "Mom, what's wrong?"  
"Nothing, baby," Niki said with an adoring smile that came through in her voice. Jessica rolled her eyes in the mirror over the dresser. Niki ignored her. "How's New Orleans? You getting along with your cousins?"

There was a long pause on the other end. And then, quietly, so only Niki can hear, "She's back, isn't she, Mom?"

Niki thought about lying to her son, but in the end she decided to just be honest with him. "She'll be gone soon, Micah," she said, matching Micah's confidential tone. "I promise."

"Swear you won't let her make you do anything bad this time."

"I swear, Micah."

There was a long pause, as if Micah were contemplating what she said. "Be careful, Mom. I love you."

"I love you too, Micah."

Micah signed off, and Niki did the same. She started to get up from the laptop, when something caught her eye. Confusion flickered in her blue eyes. She looked down, but she still had on the same pants suit as before, which meant that Jessica hadn't come out. She looked fearfully to the mirror, just in case, but Jessica just kind of shrugged, her gold hoops bouncing on her shoulders.

Niki took a deep breath, steeled herself, and maximized the webpage. The "Nathan Petrelli for Congress" homepage, popped up, with Nathan's shark grin and bushy eyebrows set against a banner of stars and stripes. Niki choked back another sob. The last time she had seen Nathan was that night in Kirby Plaza, right before the sky exploded above them, presumably taking Nathan and his brother out with it. She quickly read the "heartfelt thank you" on the page. "Without going further into further details, I am resigning from my elected seat as Junior Senator of New York state, effective immediately," she finished out loud.

She began to cry again, but these weren't tears of sorrow, these were tears of joy. "He's alive." And then she realized something. She wiped the tears from her eyes and turned her web cam back on. "Micah, did you have something to do with me seeing that webpage?" Her son didn't answer right away, and Niki couldn't help but smile. "Thank you," she said softly.

"He was a hero. You should go be a hero to him."

It took Niki a moment to realize what Micah meant. Nathan needed a friend right now just as much as Niki did. "Did anyone ever tell you you're the smartest little man on the planet?"

"You do, all the time," Micah said. Niki and Micah exchanged good-byes, and then hung up. She looked to Jessica. Jessica made a noise of disgust and looked away. Niki smiled to herself. She grabbed her keys and left Jessica behind. For now.

---

The bathroom was dark. Claire made her way to the window, keeping to the shadows. She felt like a spy. Or her dad.

Suddenly, the light came on. Claire whirled around, expecting to see Bennet, but saw Lyle there instead. "So we meet again, Superbitch," he sneered. He just stood there, glaring at Claire, and stroked an imaginary cat.

She glanced over his shoulder, but nothing stirred in the room behind him. That must mean that the parents were still asleep. "Are you following me?" she hissed, trying to make sure they stayed that way.

"Not yet." He mwh-ha-ha'd and twirled an imaginary mustache.

Claire smirked at him. "You're hilarious." She closed the door, cringing a bit as it clinked into place, and went for the window, but Lyle maneuvered around to block her path.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"Outta my way, Lyle," she ordered. He didn't move right away, so she was forced to knock his arm away from the window. He ducked and weaved until he was once again between her and the window. She pulled back, frustrated. "Lyle!"

"Either you tell me now, or I'm getting Dad."

"Don't you dare."

Lyle smiled smugly, his eyes fixed on Claire. He took a deep breath to call out, "Da--"

Claire frantically shushed him and clapped a hand over his mouth. "Alright!" When no sound came from the other side of the door, she slowly uncovered Lyle's mouth. "Alright." She pulled something out of her pocket, a picture of some campaign fundraiser she had gotten off of "I got this off Dad's computer." She showed Lyle the picture, which had Nathan and Peter all over each other, and pointed them out to him. "This is Peter Petrelli. He's my uncle." She took a deep breath, and moved her finger over to Nathan. "This is Nathan Petrelli."

Lyle snatched the picture right from her. He brought it close to his face, then gave Claire a strange look. "That's Nathan? Gross, Claire. He's like... forty. And you are so jailbait."

"He's my father."

That stopped Lyle cold. "You found your real family?" And then, perhaps remembering the faux-rents Hank and Lisa, added, "Your real real family?"

Claire couldn't help but be touched. It wasn't often he let his real feelings for her show. "You're my real family," she assured her little brother. "But right now, my bio-family needs me." She told him all about that night in Kirby Plaza, about her promise to Nathan.

"I can help."

"Dad would kill you if he found out."

"He'd kill you too, Claire," he said with an air of irritation, presumably over how close his dad and sister were.

"Yeah," Claire said, her mouth twitching the tiniest bit as she smiled. "But I can heal." She started to turn to the window, then stopped. "Give me till sunrise, then you can tell Dad if you have to."

Lyle grinned broadly, once again her annoying little brother. "Dad left twenty minutes ago."

Claire just stared at him. "I hate you so much, Lyle."

---

"_There's another way to end this, and you know it." _

_"I can't let you die."_

_"And I can't let everyone else. You saved the cheerleader... so we could save the world."_

_"I love you, Nathan."_

_"I love you too. You ready?"_

_The sky exploded far above Claire, turning night into day. An anxious voice behind her asked, "What happened to them?", but she barely heard it over the sound of her own sobs._

Claire couldn't stop thinking about that night, and being back in Kirby Plaza certainly didn't help. She realized she was crying again, and wiped away the tears. God, she could be such a girl sometimes.

She sat down by the fountain, blew her bangs from her face with a frustrated sigh. She looked at the picture she had of Peter and Nathan. None of the people she had asked had seen Peter; few of them had even recognized Nathan, which was just weird since he was a newly elected Congressman. Claire wondered if their mom had had something to do with that, then realized she didn't care. Peter was out there somewhere, helpless and alone, possibly with amnesia, and... She stopped when realized how stupid that sounded. Her brow furrowed a bit, and for a moment she looked like Nathan with his permafrown. Although...

"Hey! I know that guy!"

Claire looked up. A blonde girl grinned back at her, all sweet and childlike. She was older than Claire, early to mid-twenties at least, but seemed stuck in a permanent state of childhood. "Really?" Claire stood and gave her the picture for a better look. "His name's Peter Petrelli. He's missing."

The blonde girl stroked Peter's face in the picture, his Emo bangs. "Yeah. Yeah, I know him," she practically purred.

Claire gave her a weird look. If Claire were a few years younger, like Lyle's age, she'd tell the girl to get a room. She took the picture back before the girl could start making out with it. "Do you know where he is?"

The girl's face darkened, but only for a second. She grinned hugely at Claire. "Want me to take you to him?"

"Really?"

The girl's smile only widened. "Sure!" she chirped, waving Claire forward. "Come on!"

The girl turned to lead her away, but Claire gently touched her arm. She stiffened slightly under Claire's touch. "I'm Claire."

The girl stared at Claire's hand as she offered it. Confusion flickered in her blue eyes, but only for a moment. She quickly covered it up and shook Claire's hand. "Elle."

"Thank you so much," Claire said. "You have no idea how important this is."

Elle Bishop's eyes narrowed. The air around her crackled with electricity. "Oh, I think I do," Elle said, then stopped. She peered at Claire. Something in Claire's expression had changed. She looked almost... suspicious. Electricity crackled in Elle's hand. "Are you buying this?"

"No," Claire said, backing away slowly.

Elle made a noise of disgust, kind of rolled her eyes. "Oh well." Claire turned to run, but Elle flung her hands forward. Electricity shot from her palms and straight into Claire. It hit her, hard, knocking her face first to the ground. Elle stepped forward to tower over Claire. "Too bad all you Petrellis don't go down so easily," she sneered.

END ACT THREE.


	5. Act Four

NUCLEAR WINTER

a _Heroes_ fan fiction

by Jennifer A. Johnson

DISCLAIMER: "_HEROES_" and other related entities are owned, (TM) and _© _by TIM KRING, _NBC UNIVERSAL TELEVISION_. All Rights reserved. _This fan fiction is posted here without their permission, approval, authorization or endorsement. Any reproduction, duplication, distribution or display of this material in any form or by any means is expressly prohibited. It is absolutely forbidden to use it for commercial gain. For entertainment and educational purposes only. No infringement intended._

ACT FOUR.

Mohinder was in full on teacher mode. His dark eyes sparkled, completely in his element. "Teleportation, tissue generation," he lectured. "These are no longer simply theories. I have seen them with my own eyes. How long can they dwell in the shadows before either fate or their own flawed humanity..."

Mohinder stopped. Parkman had that glazed look in his eyes again, the one he always got whenever Mohinder practiced on him. Molly clapped a couple of times, with obvious fake enthusiasm. "Yay..." she said, trailing off. She looked as bored as Parkman.

Perhaps reading Mohinder's mind, but probably just reading his facial expression, Parkman blinked and came back from wherever he was. "Sorry."

Mohinder sat down with them at the kitchen table. "I'm a professor. I would think I'm used to that look by now." He smiled, a smile so open and genuine that Parkman had to smile back. Molly joined in with her own huge grin.

"It sounds good," Parkman said with a small shrug. "I just don't understand any of it."

"As long as it gets me noticed by The Company."

"You'll do fine," Bennet said. The lenses of his horn-rimmed glasses gleamed. His cell phone rang, and he got up to answer it.

"Claire is missing."

Bennet stopped. Fear flashed in his blue eyes. His head pounded in his chest, and for a second, he couldn't breathe.

Parkman didn't need to read his mind to know what was wrong. "Claire?" he asked. Bennet nodded slightly. Parkman and Mohinder exchanged a worried glance.

"Did you hear me, Noah?" Sandra Bennet demanded, quickly disguising her own fear with anger, making her Texas accent all the more prominent. Lyle hovered anxiously in the background. "I said your daughter is missing. She's not answering her cell phone."

Bennet put his hand to his head to think. "Put Lyle on the phone."

Sandra held the phone out to her son. "Your father wants to talk to you."

That was never good, even before the Bennets knew what their father really did for a living. Lyle gulped and took it from her. "Hi, Dad," he said nervously.

"Do you know where Claire is?"

"No..." Lyle said, except he was so obviously lying. It didn't take someone like Bennet to know that, just a parent.

"I know you think you're protecting your sister, but every moment she's out there, you are putting her life in danger," Bennet said, his voice low, and almost deadly calm. "Now, tell me where she is."

"I don't know!" Lyle cried. "She didn't tell me! She said something about her uncle, that's all I know!"

Peter. Of course. "Tell your mother not to worry. I'll find her," Bennet vowed. He hung up with Lyle, and turned away from Parkman and Mohinder so that he could call Claire. He pressed speed dial one.

"Hello?"

"Hey, you!"

Bennet recognized her voice immediately, though he kind of wished he didn't. "Elle."

Claire twisted her hands around, trying to loosen the handcuffs from her wrists. Elle watched her, highly amused. "It's your daddy," she told Claire. "You wanna be my daddy too?" she purred at Bennet.

"Put Claire on the phone."

"No," Elle pouted, her lip jutted out. She sounded almost jealous. "We're talking."

"Elle..." Bennet warned.

Elle made another noise of disgust. She practically threw the cell phone at Claire, missing her face by mere inches.

Claire flinched. She twisted around until she had the phone against her ear. Tears glistened in her green eyes.

"Dad, I'm sorry. I didn't mean..."

"It's okay, Claire Bear," Bennet said, his voice full of emotion. "It's okay." His voice changed quite suddenly, as if someone flipped a switch, from emotional father to Company Man. Claire found it oddly comforting. "Where are you?"

Elle sensed something different, perhaps a slight change of electricity in the air. Claire opened her mouth, but Elle snatched the cell phone up before she could get out her location. "I'm disappointed in you, Mr. Bennet." Elle stroked Claire's cheek. Electricity crackled all around her, making Claire recoil at her touch. "And now your precious Claire Bear is going to pay." Claire glared up at her, hatred in her green eyes. Elle grabbed Claire's face, digging her fingers into her chin. Electric current burned straight through Claire's skin. Claire screamed.

"Claire!" Bennet yelled.

Electricity surged through Claire, jerking her body all around. She gritted her teeth against the spasms. Elle yanked her hand away, dropping Claire's head like a marionette released by its puppeteer. Her eyes closed, smoke came from her clothes, her thick, blonde hair.

"Claire!" Bennet yelled again.

A smug smile wriggled on Elle's face like a worm. "Wait."

Claire gasped and came to. Her head jerked up, her green eyes darted around. Her heart started up again and pounded in her chest. "Daddy," she panted, her hands flexing against the cuffs.

Elle bent down to Claire's level. She curled her thick blonde hair around her fingers. Claire jerked back. "Look what you made me do," Elle purred at Bennet. And then she hung up.

Bennet just stood there, the phone in his hand. He was so angry he was shaking.

Parkman almost went into Bennet's mind, then out of respect, didn't. "What happened?" he asked. Bennet didn't respond; he didn't even look like he heard him. For some reason, that made Parkman even more nervous. "Is Claire alright?"

Bennet jerked his head up. He blinked behind his horn-rimmed glasses, and looked at Parkman like he was seeing him for the first time. "They've got her."

"Who's got her?" Mohinder asked.

"The Company," Bennet said, barely giving him a second glance. He was once again calm, cool, collected. He was once again HRG. "I need you to get Molly to find her for me."

Parkman looked to his little girl. "Molly?"

Molly gestured behind him with her head. Bennet turned to get her her world atlas. "I need a push-pin," she said. Bennet took one out of a nearby glass cup and gave it and the atlas to her. Molly flipped through the book, the push-pin hovering over each page. She thought of Claire. Images of the cheerleader flashed in her mind. And then, Molly pushed the pin into the page. She looked up at Parkman expectantly. He tipped the atlas slightly to get a better look, then glanced at Bennet. "Kirby Plaza."

"It's a trap," Mohinder warned.

"Of course it is." Bennet pulled his Desert Eagle from the waistband of his pants, making Molly's eyes go wide. He checked the clip, cocked the hammer, and headed for the door.

Parkman trailed after him. "Let me help."

Bennet stopped. He turned to face Parkman, studying him. He finally held up his hands. "No. It's too dangerous."

"You helped me find my family," Parkman said, glancing back at Molly and Mohinder. "Let me help you find yours."

Bennet put his foot up on the chair by Mohinder's desk. He pulled a .38 starter pistol out of his boot and handed it over. Parkman took it gratefully. "Suresh."

Bennet had Mohinder's full attention. "Yes?"

"Do whatever it takes to protect her," Bennet ordered. Mohinder gulped and nodded, and put his protective arms around Molly. "And Parkman?"

"Yeah, I know," Parkman said. "Do as you think."

Bennet smiled, but it wasn't a happy smile. The lenses of his horn-rimmed glasses gleamed. "Good man."

Parkman smiled nervously.

---

Kirby Plaza was alive with electricity. Elle bent down to Claire's level. She stroked Claire's cheek, twirled her thick blonde hair around her finger. "Wanna be my BFF?" she asked brightly.

"Go to hell," Claire said through gritted teeth. She jerked her head away and glared back at Elle with fierce green eyes.

Elle giggled and threw her arms around Claire in a hug. She pressed her cheek against Claire's and rocked her back and forth. "This is gonna be so much fun!" She pulled away excitedly. She lifted the bottom of her own top. "Wanna borrow my sweater?"

"Let her go, Elle."

Elle stood up to stare Bennet down. She held her arm at her side. A ball of electricity danced in her palm. "No. She's mine."

"I saw her first," Bennet said, his Desert Eagle out and ready but aimed at the ground.

"Dad!" Claire cried out, her wrists fighting with the handcuffs. Bennet couldn't help it, his eyes moved towards the sound of her voice.

"Two Bennets for the price of one," Elle said, more to herself than to the family in question. "Daddy'll be so proud." She flung the ball of electricity at Bennet. He jerked his gun up.

Claire twisted her hands in the cuffs. She wrapped her left thumb around the base of her right and pressed down hard. Gritting her teeth against the pain, Claire kept going until she heard a pop. The bone cracked in her right hand, breaking her thumb. She did the same with the other one. She stretched her arms and twisted her wrists again until she was able to slip out of the handcuffs. She sprang to her feet, a whirlwind of blonde curls. Her broken thumbs were already healed. "Dad!"

Elle's ball of electricity hit Bennet in shoulder. Bennet's gun went off, firing a round in the air. He hit the ground, hard, and grunted on impact.

"Dad!" Claire screamed, running towards him.

Bennet twitched as electricity surged through his body. He gritted his teeth against the pain and thought out _"Now, Parkman!" _as hard as he could.

Parkman grabbed Claire around the waist. He picked her up and clapped a hand over her mouth. She struggled in his arms as he ducked back down behind the red stair structure. He held her against him for a moment. "Claire, Claire. It's me! It's Parkman!" he hissed.

Parkman felt her relax slightly, and slowly uncovered her mouth. She whirled around, but he put a finger to his lips to shush her. "Parkman?!" she whispered fiercely.

"It's okay. It's okay," he assured her. He pulled out the .38 Bennet had given him. "I'm working with your dad. He's got a plan."

"That's good, cause I'm pretty sure if you weren't, he would kill you," she whispered back, only half-joking. The smile faded from Parkman's face when he realized it was true.

Elle's blue eyes shifted back and forth. She sensed the air around her. Electricity sparked off her slender fingers. "Claire Bear!" she called, making both Claire and Parkman freeze behind the structure. "Come out and play!"

Bennet struggled to move, deliberately making as much noise as possible. His fingers bushed against the butt of his gun, but Elle whirled around and caught him before he could pick it up. "Uh-uh-uh," she tisked. She stomped her foot down on his hand, squashing it like a bug. "That's cheating!" She flung both hands at Bennet, shooting 500 volts of electricity into him. Bennet barely had time to think _"Go!" _before the current tore through his body.

Parkman grabbed Claire and got her the hell out of there.

---

Bennet could feel the weight on his chest before he even woke up. It pressed down on him, making it hard to breathe. He slowly returned to consciousness to find Elle perched on his chest. She cocked her head. "Who's the daddy now, bitch?" she asked, a child-like smile on her face. But her blue eyes were cold, almost soulless. It chilled Bennet's blood just to look at her. He was not going to let that happen to his Claire. He would die first.

"Let me up, Elle," he ordered, his voice even and betraying nothing. She backed obediently off Bennet so that he could sit up. His wrists were handcuffed behind his back, but that was okay. He could deal. He quickly took in his surroundings; the Primatech New York division. Exactly where he wanted to be. "What do you want from me?" he asked, distracting her just enough so that she wouldn't notice him working on his own thumbs.

Elle took the bait. She bent down to his level. Her long blonde hair swung back and forth. "Guess," she said, and grinned.

"I don't have to guess. I already know."

"Oh. Really?"

"Really." Bennet felt his thumb pop. He kept his face blank. He started working on the other thumb. "But you messed up, Elle."

Elle's face darkened. She stood up so that she could tower over him. "I caught Claire once, I can do it again."

"No. You won't."

Bennet wanted her to see the subtle shift of his eyes, and she did. She spun around, her hand stretched outward, but The Haitian was there, and no electricity came out. "I don't need powers to kick. Your. Ass!" She lunged at The Haitian, all teeth and claws, but Bennet sprang to his feet. He caught one wrist with the cuffs, then spun her around and got the other. The Haitian didn't even flinch. "Ooh, kinky," Elle panted, a sexy gleam in her eye. "Does Mrs. HRG know you like it rough?"

The tiniest bit of anger betrayed Bennet as he locked the cuffs, which made Elle smirk. Bennet looked to The Haitian. "Go deep," he ordered. The smirk faded from Elle's face. "Take everything."

The Haitian put his hand to Elle's forehead.

---

Nathan sat perched atop the skyscraper, the very same skyscraper where they discovered that he wasn't the only one who could fly. He took a sip of scotch from the bottle; it burned his throat, but even that couldn't warm the coldness he felt in whatever was left of his soul. It was getting harder and harder to believe that Peter was still alive. The part of him who wished he had gone along with Linderman's plan grew increasingly bigger each day. At least then Pete would still be alive. He had never felt so alone. Nathan needed his little brother.

Distant footsteps echoed behind him. He didn't know who it was, he couldn't even bring himself to care. He didn't care about anything right now, not even what happened to him. After all, this was New York, and the stranger behind him could be dangerous. Nathan almost wished he was. He went to take another sip, but his hand shook, and the alcohol splashed all over his face. He blinked slowly, his thick eyelashes brushing against his cheekbones. "You know the sad thing is, I wanted to drown just now," he slurred.

"Nathan, what are you doing?"

Nathan stopped. His permafrown deepened; the voice was vaguely familiar, one he sort of knew from his previous life. He slowly stood up and turned to face her, the kind of girl you spend your entire life waiting to meet. Somebody strong, somebody beautiful, somebody good. "Niki?" he asked, tottering drunkenly on the ledge. New York was so far below him, about a million miles away.

Niki took a step towards him, moving slowly so as not to create any sudden movements. He was like a wild animal that could bolt at any minute, and there was only one out, and that was down. Way down. Her heart pounded in her chest. "Nathan, get down from there. Please."

He blinked, almost confused. "Oh, I'm not gonna jump," he said finally, and his brow furrowed further, if that was even possible. "Why are you here?" To Niki's ears, it sounded like an accusation, not a question.

"Why don't you get down from there, then we'll talk?"

Nathan just kind of shrugged. He went to step down, but gravity tugged at him, and, being drunk, he lost his balance.

"Nathan!" Niki yelled. She lunged forward, catching him by the wrist. He dangled there, over the side of the building, the ground a tiny dot below him. He lost his grip on the bottle of scotch; it slid through his fingers and fell down, down, down, finally exploding on impact with the asphalt. Summoning all of her superstrength, Niki pulled him up and over the edge. They tumbled together to the rooftop, with him landing on top.

Nathan pulled himself off her. She got to her feet, brushed herself off. Fear flickered in her blue eyes when she looked at him. "Dammit, Nathan, don't do that to me."

"You should have let me die," he mumbled, his dark eyes downcast and full of pain. "Why didn't you just let me die?"

Niki felt her heart break. She went to him, took him into her arms. He stiffened slightly at her touch, then slowly melted into her. She just held him, one hand on the back of his neck, and breathed him in. Somewhere under all that alcohol, under all that pain, was the man she had fallen for, the real Nathan Petrelli.

She finally had to tear herself away from him. Their eyes met, and neither of them wanted to look away. They both felt it, an electricity, a shared chemistry running through both their bodies, just like the night they met. She leaned subtly into him; her lips brushed against his, slowly, tenderly. He started to kiss her, then drew back. He rested his forehead against hers and just held her. "I can't," he whispered, his voice deep and full of emotion. "I can't."

"It doesn't have to mean anything," she whispered back. She brushed her fingers against the nape of his neck. "Just kiss me, Nathan."

His lips touched hers, and for a moment, just a moment, he forgot everything; all that pain, all that loss. He even forgot that he had killed his little brother. Almost.

END ACT FOUR.


	6. Act Five

NUCLEAR WINTER

a _Heroes_ fan fiction

by Jennifer A. Johnson

DISCLAIMER: "_HEROES_" and other related entities are owned, (TM) and _© _by TIM KRING, _NBC UNIVERSAL TELEVISION_. All Rights reserved. _This fan fiction is posted here without their permission, approval, authorization or endorsement. Any reproduction, duplication, distribution or display of this material in any form or by any means is expressly prohibited. It is absolutely forbidden to use it for commercial gain. For entertainment and educational purposes only. No infringement intended._

ACT FIVE.

Claire stared at the clock. The minutes dragged by. The digital numbers mocked her. She made a little hiss through her teeth. "I can't take it anymore." She slammed her hand down on the chair and stood up. "I'm going after Dad." She stormed for the motel room door, her blonde hair bouncing against her back.

"Sit. Down," Sandra ordered, her voice very much like her husband's. It made Claire stop in her tracks. "Your dad is comin' back."

"How do you know?" she asked. There were tears in her eyes.

"Because I have faith."

Her mom sounded so confident, so sure, that Claire actually obeyed. She went back and sat down next to Parkman.

"And so does Mr. Muggles," Sandra continued, her voice rising in pitch. She looked down at Mr. Muggles in her arms, who immediately began to cover her face with sloppy dog kisses. "Don't you, Mr. Muggles? Yes you do. Yes you do." And then she made kissing noises at the dog.

Claire cringed and looked to Parkman. _"I'm sorry you had to see that," _she thought, making him smile.

Bennet chose that moment to come through the door, The Haitian at his side. Lyle leaped to his feet. "Dad!" he shouted.

Claire practically threw herself at her dad. "Suck it, Jack Bauer," she said, and laughed. She buried her face in his chest. He took her into his arms and just held her. She didn't want to let him go, but finally had to smile up at him. Her green eyes were filled with such love, such adoration, that it made Bennet's heart ache. He handed her a file without a word. She took it, almost confused, until she looked down. It was labeled Petrelli, Peter, 11/08/06. "He's alive!" she gasped and gave her dad another hug.

Bennet kissed the top of her head, and then locked eyes with Sandra. She looked angry, but only for a moment. A smile slowly spread across her face, prompting Bennet to smile back. They gazed at each other. "Don't ever do that to us again, Noah," she said. Bennet went to his wife and swept her up into his arms so that they could share an intimate kiss.

Parkman shifted uncomfortably. Mind reading was one thing, but this really made him feel like an intruder. He subtly cleared his throat to get Bennet's attention. Bennet's eyes shifted over to Parkman, then back to his wife. She nodded, releasing him to Parkman. Bennet gestured he follow him over to The Haitian, who waited patiently in the shadows.

Bennet glanced back at his family, then held up a flash drive. "This has everything Suresh needs to know about the virus, and about The Company," his voice was low, confidential, meant for Parkman and The Haitian's ears only. Parkman nodded and took the drive from him. Parkman turned to the door, but Bennet's voice made him stop. "And Matt. Thank you."

"Thank _you_."

Their eyes met, and Bennet nodded. Parkman glanced at The Haitian, but all he got from him was dead air. He gulped back his fear of this man and went home to his family.

---

Early morning sunlight streamed in through the window of Peter's tiny apartment. Her cell phone vibrated on the dresser.

Niki's eyes fluttered open, then sharpened with recognition when she saw Nathan asleep beside her. His bare chest moved slowly in and out with each breath. A sleepy smile formed on her face. She reached out and brushed the bangs back from his gaunt face. His brow furrowed in his sleep.

The phone vibrated again, then went to voicemail. Niki rolled over to check the call log, but saw the framed picture of Nathan with his little brother on the nightstand and stopped. Her pale blue eyes caught her reflection, only it wasn't her in the glass, it was Gina.

"You slut!" Gina gasped teasingly.

Niki sat up, tightening the sheet around her naked body. It felt cool against her skin. "No, it wasn't like that," she said, her voice low. "Nathan and I--"

"Bored now," Gina sighed, and looked away.

Niki's cell phone vibrated again. She slipped out of Nathan's bed, quietly so as not to wake him. Of course, all that alcohol in him probably helped. "Hello?"

"You're not here, Ms. Sanders," Bob Bishop said on the other end of the phone. "Why are you not here?"

"I'm sorry, Bob," she said in that same low voice. She held the sheet up over her breasts. "I'm with a friend."

"We can't help you if you don't help yourself," Bob said, in that pseudo-friendly voice of his that somehow still fooled Niki.

"I know. I'm sorry."

There was a pause, and then, "Do you want to be responsible for his death too, Ms. Sanders?" That stopped Niki cold. He continued, "I'm sorry to be so blunt, Niki, but I'm afraid that your situation requires it."

"I'll be right in," Niki said, her voice low, almost Jessica-like in its intensity. She hung up.

---

The restraints dug into Niki's wrists, but she couldn't feel them. She stared vacantly at the window, looking out but not really seeing anything. Suddenly, she gasped. Her glazed eyes sharpened. "Amateurs," Jessica scoffed. She shot her fist into the air. The restraints snapped. Jessica was free.

---

Claire stared out the car window. The endless scenery dragged by. It all looked the same to her. Mom and Lyle were asleep, and so was Mr. Muggles, but Claire couldn't sleep, even if she wanted to. She wasn't sure she ever would again. Everything they owned was right here with them in their tiny, tiny car. Claire didn't know where they were going; her dad wouldn't tell her, but wherever it was, she wouldn't be Claire Bennet anymore. She would someone plain, average, normal, someone not real. Someone not her.

She looked forward and caught her dad's gaze in the rearview mirror. She forced a smile. Bennet smiled reassuringly back and returned his eyes to the road.

Claire looked back out the window, staring vacantly as she prepared to disappear.

---

Nathan was flying. The sun was bright, cheery, and it warmed his soul. The best part was he wasn't alone, not anymore. He knew he never would be again. He looked over and saw Peter flying next to him. Nathan touched Pete's face, his shorter hair, his shoulder, proving to himself that his little brother was really real. He smiled. Pete smiled back, that crooked half-smile that only endeared him to Nathan further. He gestured with his head. "Race ya."

Peter took off. Nathan gave him a thirty second head start, the way he had always done when Pete was a kid, then grinned and chased after him. The air rushed in on him, feeding into him, making him go faster and faster. Nathan never felt so alive.

"You let me win," Peter panted, and then grinned.

Nathan couldn't stop smiling. He reached out and put his hand on Pete's shoulder, gazed deep into his hazel eyes. Peter slowly smiled back, almost mesmerized by his brother's touch. Neither wanted to break the connection. "I love you, Nathan."

"I love you too."

Nathan took Peter into his arms and just held him. They floated high above Manhattan together. He was never going to let him go, and he knew that Peter would never push him away, not this time. _You go, I go. _

"I'm alive," Peter said, as Nathan stroked his hair. "You can't give up. Promise me, Nathan."

"I promise."

---

Peter Petrelli reached for someone in his sleep. He blinked, and slowly woke up. He stared at his hand, which hovered there in the air, then lowered it.

"What's wrong?" Caitlin asked beside him, her Irish accent even thicker with sleep.

Peter frowned. He had been dreaming, but it didn't feel like a dream. It felt real. The dream, if that was in fact what it was, was already fading into his amnesia. The one thing that stuck with him, though, was the man from the photograph.

He sat up and went into his pants pocket. He pulled out the picture Ricky had given him, the one from his former life. He stared at that other man, the one who had so obviously been important to him once and must still be. He just wished, more than anything, that he could remember who he was.

---

Nathan reached for Peter in his sleep. He blinked, and slowly woke up. He could almost feel Peter's hand in his. He stared at his own hand, which hovered there in the air, then slowly lowered it.

Nathan sat up. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, his face. He didn't want to wake up, but he knew that he couldn't go back to sleep now, even if he tried. He reached for the bottle of scotch on his nightstand, but his dark eyes caught the picture of him and Peter instead. He picked it up, stared at the image of Peter. He could still feel Pete, as if his little brother were right there in the room with him. Nathan knew, he KNEW, that it hadn't been a dream. Time travel, astral projection, it didn't matter; somehow, he and Pete really had been soaring together through the clouds. Which could only mean one thing.

Peter was alive.

END ACT FIVE.

FADE OUT.


End file.
